


Tomes Written in Other Inks

by CelticxPanda



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Banter, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Leonardo is a Neat Freak, Meet-Cute, Michelangelo is a Cutie and Loves Art, Raph doesn't know how to deal with people being nice to him, Raphael and Casey are joined at the hip, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, University, book throwing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29724357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticxPanda/pseuds/CelticxPanda
Summary: Alternate Universe takes onFour Letter Words in Purple Prosein which the Night Shift Librarian meets the other turtles first.Basically self indulgent AU versions of an already self-indulgent series of fics.
Relationships: Leonardo (TMNT)/Original Female Character(s), Michelangelo (TMNT)/Original Female Character(s), Raphael (TMNT)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. The Orange Trees -- Gustave Caillebotte, 1878

Meg was bored. There really was no other word for it. She’d finished her essay on historical revisionism in the 20th and 21st century about an hour ago, and didn’t have any other pressing assignments. Normally she liked how dead the university library was at midnight, but fuck, man, she wanted something to do.

Well, something to do that wasn’t doodling on sticky notes. 

She could, technically, walk around the library again, but she’d already done that twice and no one had been in the building since 9 anyway. 

She checked her watch again. 12:03. She groaned aloud and went back to doodling. 

She couldn’t be sure how much time passed -- except to denote that she’d made it through four more sticky notes -- when she suddenly heard a voice.

“Uh, excuse me?”

Meg’s head shot up as she nearly lept out of her skin. No one had entered the building in hours, and the only entrance was right by the circulation desk, so she would have known if someone did. 

And then she got a look at who, exactly, had approached her without her notice.

Not much taller than she was, green-skinned, and wearing a bright orange strip of cloth over his eyes like some kinda make-shift Zorro mask, was a turtle. A Turtle man. At least she assumed he was a man. She wasn’t entirely sure how you told male and female turtles apart. 

“Holy shit!” she yelped, falling back over her office chair as she attempted to jump from it. She hit the table behind her with her hip, hissing in pain. “Mother fuck!”

“Oh, yeesh, sorry that I scared ya,” the turtle said in an accent that sounded vaguely like a California surfer dude from the 90s, but like...also not. “I was hoping you could help me find some books.”

Meg blinked owlishly at the turtle man. Books? He wanted books? Well, she supposed there really wasn’t any other reason for coming to the library. Unless you wanted to use the public internet, but that shit was slow as fuck. Might as well just surf on your phone. 

“Oh, uh...okay. What kind of books.” Surprised as she was -- and Meg had seen plenty of shit since moving to New York so she wasn’t that surprised (New York *would* be the place that had mutant turtle men) -- she did have a job to do.

“Art books!” the turtle man said cheerfully.

“Okay,” Meg said, picking her desk chair back up off the floor. “Those are in the 700s. Are you lookin’ for anything specific?”

“Yeah! You guys got anything on French Impressionism?” 

Meg felt like asking what a mutant turtle man wanted with books on French Impressionism, but decided it wasn’t her place to ask. Mutant turtle man could want whatever fucking books he wanted. Who was she to judge?

“We’re a hella expensive liberal arts college, my dude,” she said as she typed away at the library catalogue, “of course we have books on French Impressionism.” 

After getting the right Dewey Decimal number, she stood from the desk. “Follow me.”

She led the mutant turtle man deeper into the library, listening to him ramble away about the murals on the ceiling and walls, about the street art he’d seen on the way to the library from who knows where, and about the pizza he’d gotten from some guy named Joey Alberti near Grand Central. 

“My brothers would probably be kinda mad that I just straight up asked you about the books instead of finding them myself,” he admitted. “Since that meant revealing myself, but, like, you seem pretty chill about the whole thing.”

Meg wasn’t sure exactly how ‘chill’ she was considering her mind was still going a mile a minute trying to figure out a) how the hell a mutant turtle man existed, b) why he’d be in her library, and c) what the fuck he wanted with books on French Impressionism of all things. That girl who ran that coffee shop Meg and her roommate liked so much mentioned how things went bump in the night around New York, but Meg wasn’t entirely sure she meant mutant turtle men or just, like, regular ghosts. 

Yeah, Meg believed in ghosts. What of it? 

“We are chill, right?” the turtle man asked, sounding a bit worried. 

“I’m not gonna take a picture to sell to the Post, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Meg said, trying to be reassuring. “Can’t say I’m not surprised that mutant turtles exist, but I guess if you lived anywhere it’d be a place like New York. You’d never see shit like this in Texas.” 

“Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” the turtle man admitted. “Thanks for not, like, throwing books at me or anything.”

“Oh, I may still throw books at you,” Meg warned with a wild grin. “Don’t test me, turtle man.” 

“Oh, my name is Michelangelo,” the turtle man said. “My friends call me Mikey.”

Meg shook her head. “A turtle named after a Renaissance artist is looking for stuff on French Impressionism. The universe is clearly fucking with me at this point.”

She turned, heading down a row of shelves without waiting for a reply from the turtle man -- Michelangelo, she corrected herself. “So books on French art history are gonna be in 759.4. We got a couple on Impressionism in France as a whole, and a few on specific artists. Did you have a preference?”

“A bit of both,” Michelangelo said with a shrug. “Anything with lots of pictures.” 

“Alright then,” Meg muttered, turning towards the shelves. She ran her finger over the covers, scanning the titles. She pulled one out. “Well, you’re definitely going to want something on Monet. And here’s one on women Impressionists. I’d like to say we have more books on those ladies as individuals, but academia is a white man’s world. Oh, and Renoir is pretty famous, so you probably want a book on him. And...uh...this guy. Caillebotte, or however you say that.”

“Caillebotte?” Michelangelo echoed, looking at the book with curiosity and a little bit of confusion.

“Yeah, I saw one of his paintings in Houston on a class trip once. The Orange Trees or something like that. It was pretty.” 

“Thanks, dudette!” Meg had to take a moment to make sure she heard that right. Who the hell used dudette anymore? Or like...ever?

“No worries,” Meg said with a shrug. “Just put ‘em on the cart at the end of the shelf when you’re done with ‘em.” 

“Will do!” 

Meg returned to the circulation desk, sitting heavily in her chair. She stared at the ceiling, wondering what she’d done in her past life to make the universe hate her so much.

Well, okay. Hate might be a strong word. It wasn’t like Michelangelo was mean, or a people-eating mutant turtle monster man. Least not as far as she could tell. But the universe clearly felt some kinda way about her. 

And really did not need that kinda nonsense in her life. 

The clock ticked ever closer to 3 am, and the end of Meg’s shift. When there was ten minutes left before she had to close up for the night, Meg went searching for Michelangelo again. 

She found him sitting on the floor in the middle of the stacks, still reading. He had a few more books that he’d pulled from the shelves in a pile next to him, and the book on Monet was in his lap. 

“Hey, bud,” Meg called, “we’re closing up in like, five minutes.”

Michelangelo looked up, a disappointed frown on his face. “Aw, man. But I’m not finished yet.”

Meg frowned, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek as she contemplated the situation. She couldn’t promise that the books would still be there tomorrow when she came back. And she was only allowed to hold books for students or professors, not herself and certainly not for some random off the street.

But…

“I can check them out for you on my account,” she offered. 

Michelangelo’s face lit up like a child’s on Christmas. “Really?”

Meg shrugged. “Sure. Why not. But if they come back damaged, I will hunt you down to murder you and I’ll powder your shell to sell as a virility enhancer.” 

He ignored her threat, practically bouncing to his feet as he collected the books around him. “You’re the best, dudette! Really!”

“You can call me Meg,” she said. “It’s my name, after all.”

“Meg,” he repeated, grinning. “Got it! I promise I’ll remember.”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal if you don’t,” she said with a shrug.

“No, it is!” he insisted as he followed her back towards the circulation desk. “Dad says names are important. They hold power or something.”

Meg frowned thoughtfully. Cal at the night cafe mentioned something similar. She filed that away in the back of her head for later contemplation.

“Does that mean I can’t call you Creamsicle Float?” she asked teasingly. “How about sunshine? Or darlin’?”

Michelangelo’s face flushed, grin becoming flirtatious. Hell, Meg might almost call it a bit levacious. “You can call me whatever you want.”

Meg let out a bark of laughter. Alright, universe, who taught the turtle man shitty pick up lines.

“Keep that shit up and I ain’t letting you get any books.” 

“I’ll be good.”

Meg snickered, sliding around the circulation desk and pulling out her staff id to scan. Once her account was up, she scanned the books Michelangelo was carrying, handing them over with a printed receipt. 

“That tells you when they’re due,” she explained. “You’ve got three weeks with ‘em. If you’re not done, let me know and I can give you more time. Alright?” 

He smiled, cradling the books like they were a newborn lamb. “Thanks, Meg. I’ll be careful with them, I promise.” 

Meg was already shrugging on her denim jacket. “I’m sure you will. No skedaddle. I gotta close up.” 

“Hey, um…” Meg looked at Michelangelo as she swung her bag over her shoulder, seeing him shuffle awkwardly. “It’s okay if I come hang out here, right? And look at the books?”

Meg flashed him a smile. “Yeah, man. No worries. I get bored hanging out here all by myself anyway.” 

“Great! Guess I’ll see you later!”

“Guess so.”

The next day, as Meg was making her 10’o clock rounds, Michelangelo dropped down from a skylight that she’d always been a bit suspicious of.

“So...do you guys have comics?”


	2. Sometsuke

Someone was in the library, Meg just knew it. There was no other reason that reshelving carts that had been empty an hour before now had books on them.

That said, Meg wasn’t sure who it could be. The library was usually cleared of students by 9 -- they had partying to go do on their rich-ass parents’ dime, after all -- and no one had entered the library since. There was only one entrance to the building (save for the loading dock out back and the various emergency exits) right next to the circulation desk, and no one had passed her by.

So where, exactly, was this person and how did they slip passed her?

At least they were nice enough to actually put the books on the reshelving carts and not just lay them around in piles like most of the faculty did. Meg swore the professors were the worst part of her job. 

Meg picked up the books on the cart, looking them over. They were all fairly thick volumes on Japanese history. Were they a student in the East Asian Studies program? Or were they just in a class on Japanese history? 

She drummed her fingers on the covers of the books, looking around. No one was around, so far as she could see, and she didn’t hear anything. Was she just paranoid? Or misremembering if the books had been here when she’d last done a round? No. She was certain they hadn’t been on the cart. 

She returned the books to their proper place and moved on, walking as quietly as she could through the library, ears straining to hear any kind of movement. She couldn’t hear any. 

Eventually, she returned to the circulation desk, stumped. Maybe she was just tired and really did forget she saw those books earlier. Or maybe some kid had snuck in when she was in the bathroom and left when she was gone from the desk. She sighed, laying her head on the circulation desk. She just wanted the night to be over.

The next night brought the same occurrence: books on a reshelving cart that had not been there the last time she’d done a round. She knew for certain no students or faculty had come into the library in hours. She hadn’t left the desk this time. 

She picked up the books. More Japanese history, just like before. Same time period and subject matter to. Whoever this person was, they liked samurai and ninja. Must be a weeaboo or something, Meg figured as she slid the books back into place on the shelf. 

When the same occurrences happened again the next night, and then again her next shift -- sometimes multiple times a night -- Meg didn’t know how she was going to keep herself from pulling her hair out. Getting frustrated at this point, she grabbed the books from the cart and shouted into the empty air.

“Hey, I appreciate you putting the books where they’re supposed to when you’re done with them, but I’m not all that keen on the ghost bullshit you’re pullin’. And if this is some kinda prank it ain’t funny.”

Silence met her statement, and she returned the books to the shelf with a scowl on her face. Instead of going back to the circulation desk, she parked herself at one of the study tables, watching the cart where the books were set. She’d catch that asshole, she was sure of it.

When she came back from a quick run to the restroom to find books back on the cart, however, she felt like crying. 

“I’m going crazy,” she grumbled, sniffling as she rubbed at her eyes. “Fucking coocoo for cocoa puffs. And I hate chocolate. How the hell am I supposed to explain this to anyone? No one is going to take me seriously.” 

There was sound behind her, like something heavy landing with surprising lightness. She turned, jumping back with a yelp when she saw who -- or what -- was standing behind her.

The green skin caught her attention first, quickly followed by the swords on its back and the shell. The blue bandana across the eyes was a bit of a strange choice, but compared to everything else, she could deal with it.

“What the fuck?” she whispered, holding the books in front of her like a shield. 

“I’m sorry.”

Meg paused, brain rebooting. “What?”

“I wanted to apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to cause you so much distress.”

Meg blinked, then, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Wait. You were the one putting these books on the cart?”

“Yes.”

Furious now that she found the source of her frustration, Meg took matters into her own hands...but throwing what she currently had in her hands at the source of her frustration.

“You!” The turtle man dodged the first book. “Absolute!” But he couldn’t dodge the following two books. “Fucknugget!”

“Ow…” 

“I thought I was going crazy!” Meg shouted, tears flowing. She couldn’t be sure if they were of anger or of relief. “Frankly, I’m still not sure I’m not crazy. Go from ghosts reading books to fucking mutant turtle men. The universe fucking hates me, clearly.”

“I’m sorry?” the turtle man clearly didn’t know what the hell was going on.

Meg sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No. No, it’s fine. I can’t exactly blame you from hiding from me. You’re a mutant turtle man, I can’t imagine you get the best reception when you walk into places.”

“No...generally not,” the turtle man agreed. “I mean...you did just throw books at me.”

“To be fair, I only did that because you’ve been fucking with me for several days,” Meg said, running a hand through her hair to calm herself. “I’d have done that no matter who you were.” 

“I see.”

An awkward, heavy silence fell between the two of them. Meg sighed, stepping towards the turtle man to pick up the books she’d chucked at him. 

“Look, I’m perfectly happy with you coming in to read books on my shift,” Meg said. “But just...don’t fucking sneak around like that anymore.”

“Of course,” the turtle man assured. “I apologize again.” 

“Don’t worry about it.”

The turtle man stared at her, confusion on his face. “But I made you cry?”

Meg made a dismissive noise. “I cry at the drop of a hat. Don’t worry about that either.” She looked at the books in her hands. “Were you done with these?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Do you want help finding more?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Nah, man. It’s my job. Plus, I’m bored as hell.” 

“I see. Thank you.” He seemed to lose his stiffness, an actual smile coming to his face.

“Don’t worry about it,” Meg said, sliding the books back into place. “You got a name.”

“Leonardo,” he said, and Meg couldn’t help but notice how formal he’d been this whole time. “May I ask yours.”

She held out her hand to shake, grinning. “Call me Meg.”

She felt how calloused and rough his hand was as his grasped hers. The swords might not just be for show, then.

“Now, I can kinda see why you keep reading books about ninjas. Is there a reason for the get up, or are you just a weeb?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't tell me Leonardo isn't at least a little bit of a weeb


	3. Red Leaves on a Japanese Maple

Meg liked the campus at night. It was quiet, and she could take her time making her way to the subway. There were lots of small gardens and shaded areas, and she was sure they were very pretty in the daylight. Her favorites were the cherry blossom trees and the Japanese maples. 

She pulled her denim jacket tighter around her as she stepped out into the early autumn briskness, the hint of a chill in the breeze. As she walked, she pulled out her headphones and phone, ready to blast music the rest of the way home. But a sound made her pause. Turning, her attention was drawn to one of the shaded groves of Japanese maples. Someone was there. Who? No one really wandered around the campus this late, except maybe the security guards. But they were always on their little motor scooters, and never just...stopped. 

Curiosity getting the better of her, Meg wandered closer, peering through the dimly lit darkness. Was it a homeless person? If so, that was a poor place to park it for the night. There wasn’t even a bench in there. She could probably tell them of a better spot to sleep, one that the security guards regularly passed by without notice.

She approached carefully, not wanting to make a lot of noise. Some folks got fidgety when approached late at night. Which, you know, was reasonable. But she didn’t want this person to bolt. 

As she came closer, however, she started noticing a few things. The first was the muttering. Not unusual for a certain portion of New York’s homeless population, but this mutter seemed a lot more coherent. 

“Freakin’ Casey. Who does that bastard thing he is, always bein’ late like this? Gonna give him a piece of my mind when he finally shows up.”

Second: whoever this person was...they weren’t shaped like a person. Tall, muscular, and with a distinct shell attached to the back, this person looked more like some kind of mutant turtle man than your usual homeless folk. 

The wind shifted the trees, bringing in a bit more light from the waxing moon and the streetlamps. In that brief moment of light, Meg spotted green skin and the waving tails of a red mask. 

Okay. Ninja mutant turtle man. Sure. Why not?

“Uh,” Meg called, deciding it was best to let the ninja turtle man know that she knew he was there before she got any closer. “If you’re looking for a place to hold up for the night, there’s a better spot elsewhere.”

The turtle man’s head snapped in her direction, golden eyes practically glowing in the low light. Meg could imagine the surprised expression on his face at being caught. Or would he be angry? Ninjas were supposed to be sneaky after all. And he was a ninja. Or, at least Meg assumed he was. Which, she could admit, was a strange assumption to make about a turtle man. 

“Hey! Raph!”

Meg turned her attention towards the new voice. Running up towards them from between a few of the university buildings came a man dressed in a university varsity jacket. He carried a duffle bag over his shoulder and a hockey stick in his other hand. It only took Meg a moment to put two and two together.

“Coach Jones?” she asked.

The man turned at the name, his eyes going wide when he realized there was someone else here. “Oh, shit.” 

“Casey, you freakin’ idiot!” the turtle man hissed. “If you hadn’t been so damn late, I wouldn’t have been caught!”

“Hey! I’m not the one who’s supposed to be a freakin’ ninja!” Coach Jones argued.

“Oh, so he is a ninja,” Meg said, catching their attention once more. “I thought so, with the mask and all, but I figured that was a weird assumption to make about a turtle man.” 

“At least she recognizes I’m a turtle,” the turtle man muttered.

Meg shrugged. “I mean...what else could you be?” 

“You’d be surprised how many people think I’m a frog.”

Meg shot him an incredulous look. “But frogs don’t have shells?”

“Exactly!” The turtle man shouted in exasperation. “Thank you!” 

“Get over here, kid,” Coach Jones said, waving her over. “Ain’t no good to have you shoutin’ across the way at us.”

“Bruh, I’m 25,” Meg grumbled, trotting over with her hands in her pockets.

“And I’m 36, what’s yer point?” Coach Jones said with a shrug. “Anyway, you know who I am, but who’re you?”

“Meg Gordon, night shift library aide,” Meg said with a mock curtsey. The turtle man snorted at her display.

“A’ight, Library Girl,” the turtle man said with a sardonic smirk. “I see you.”

“And I saw you Ninja Boy,” Meg shot back with a smirk of her own. “Guess that makes us even.” 

“Guess it does.”

Coach Jones looked between the two of them with a confused expression before sighing and shrugging. “Look, Idunno what’s going on here, but this, Little Miss Night Shift, is Raph. He’s gonna be meeting me here every-so-often. So don’t tell nobody. Got it?”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Bitch, please, who would I tell? I try and tell the day shift girls about this and they’ll call the police on me for a ‘wellness check’ and that is the last thing I need. Nah, man, you’re good.” She turned to Raph. “Is Raph short for something?”

Raph gave her a hard look, golden eyes narrow as he tried to gage something about her. “Raphael.”

Meg smirked. “After the angel or after the artist who got fucked to death?”

The two of them stared at her, jaws hanging open in shock.

“The artist who _what?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last bit about Raphael the artist? True facts.


	4. Warm Blooded, Cold Blooded

“You know, you can hang out in here,” Meg said, leaning against the open door into the library. “Instead of waiting in the cold.”

Raph turned to look over his shoulder at her, scowling a little. He was already cranky at Casey’s chronic lateness, and now Library Girl was pitying him. He did not need this right now.

“What? You think I can’t handle the cold just ‘cause I’m a turtle?” he demanded harshly.

Meg shot him an unimpressed look, clearly not taking his blustering seriously. “I mean, yeah? Turtles are cold-blooded, man. It’s a pretty easy assumption to make. Now stop being pissy and get in here before you slip into hibernation in the middle of campus or whatever. I don’t know what turtles do.” 

Raph scowled harder, but had to concede the point to Meg. If he’d only been out here for a few minutes like planned, it wouldn’t be so bad. But Casey had left him to stand out in the chilly night air for over an hour. He was fucking cold. 

“Yeah, alright,” he muttered, trudging up the stone steps towards the old oak doors. Meg flashed him a smile, catching him off guard. The expression had been softer than he was used to seeing from her. The few times he’d interacted with her after meeting her, Meg had been all sarcasm and smirks and wild grins. She dished it out just as good as Raph or Casey did, sliding in with particularly pointed quips that could send either of them to their knees. 

“There’s a Keurig in the back,” she said as the door shut behind them. “You can make yourself a cup of coffee or something if that’ll help.” 

“You’re being weirdly nice ta me, Library Girl,” Raph said, crossing his arms and glaring at her suspiciously. “I don’t need no pity from ya.” 

Meg shot him another unimpressed look. “Gee, Ninja Boy, it’s almost like people are multifaceted and complicated. Just because I’m a bitch sometimes doesn’t mean I’m an asshole who isn’t gonna try and help somebody. Christ, it’s like you’ve never had a friend before.” 

She stopped, frowning and looking a bit ashamed of herself. “Sorry. That was a low blow. Knew I shouldn’t have said it the second it left my mouth.” 

Raph blinked, thrown off by her easy apology. He and his brothers had always been stubborn, even go-with-the-flow Mikey and gentle Donatello. Even when one of them recognized the fault was theirs in an argument, it could take hours, or even days, for any of them to admit it. To see it happen so quickly and for an apology to come so easily was almost unnerving. 

He didn’t respond, unsure of how to proceed, and Meg turned and walked away, disappearing through a door behind the circulation desk. Raph cursed at himself under his breath. This was what Mikey was always telling him. He was so harsh on anyone trying to do him any bit of kindness. He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. Looked like he was going to owe her an apology after this.

He leaned against the circulation desk, debating following after her to apologize, when Meg returned with two coffee cups in hand. Raph stared, once again thrown for a loop, as Meg set one of the cups on the counter in front of him. 

“So, uh, I didn’t make you a coffee,” Meg admitted. “I don’t drink coffee and the girls who work the day shift know that. If one of their pod things went missing at night they’d think something was up. So, I made you a cup of tea instead.”

Raph’s gaze fell to the cup on the counter in front of him. He reached out, feeling the warmth of the liquid inside through the styrofoam. It made the rest of him feel cold by comparison. 

“Thanks,” he muttered. “And...sorry.” 

Meg shrugged, hiding a small smirk behind her cup of tea. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Ya weren’t wrong,” he said, staring at the cup of tea in his hands. “We didn’t have a lotta friends growin’ up. Still don’t.”

“I imagine so,” Meg said, sipping on her tea. “That’s why it was a low blow. You can’t really help your circumstances, or the lack of human interaction. Hell, I’m human and people still treat me like shit. Can’t imagine how much worse it would have been for me in elementary school if I was a turtle person.”

“So, yeah, I don’t have a whole lotta...experience with people bein’ nice ta me,'' Raph admitted. “Mostly it’s just been Casey and April.”

“Dunno how nice Casey is considering he’s late all the time,” Meg muttered. 

Raph snickered, finally taking a sip of the tea. It was sweet, and tasted of warm spices that reminded him of the holidays. “That’s not malicious or anything. He’s just stupid.” 

“Well, from now on, you hang out in here when you’re waiting for him,” Meg said, tapping the counter. “You’ll keep warm, and I’ll keep you company.” 

She held up her cup expectantly, grinning a little. “Friends?”

“Sure,” Raph said with a shrug. “Why not? I ain’t doin’ a fuckin’ cheers with you, though. That’s stupid.”

“Boo, you whore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to continue with these AU ficlets because I'm a multishipper at heart and that instinct only increases when dealing with my OCs. Let me knew if you want me to label the chapters by which pairing I'm writing for. Just like with the main series I'm trying to do color-theme chapter titles, but sometimes that's not always clear lol


	5. Listenin' to the Bluegrass Band

Tugging at the handle one last time to make sure the library doors were locked properly, Meg stepped out into the crisp autumn air. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her earbuds and sticking one into her ear. As she strolled down the campus mall, she scrolled through her music collection, hemming and hawing as she tried unsuccessfully to decide what she wanted to listen to. It didn’t help that she could distinctly feel a set of eyes on her. That sort of thing was distracting.

She turned, glancing up towards the roofs of the university buildings. “Leo, I know you’re there. What are you doing?”

Leo slipped out of the shadows cast by decorative gargoyles, dropping down into the shrubbery lining the bottom floor of the building. After taking a moment to check that they were truly alone, he made his way out into the open.

“I thought I’d walk you home,” he said. “It can get dangerous this late at night.”

“I mean, you could,” Meg said. She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb at a subway station across the road from the university mall. “But my subway station is literally just right there. I don’t walk to work; it’s too far.” 

She could see a flicker of disappointment pass over Leo’s face, which was kind of strange. He had just spent the last three hours in the library with her. Granted, they’d mostly done their own thing, but it wasn’t like they ignored each other. She frowned when a sudden spark of inspiration twinkled in his eyes.

“I can make the walk faster,” he said.

Okay, she’d bite. “How?”

Without warning, Meg felt herself being lifted off the ground. An arm wrapped under her knees as another curled around her back, cradling her close to hard plastron. She yelped belatedly, making another, louder sound of surprise as Leo bounded up the side of the building with impressive ease.

“Woah! Hey, slow down!” Meg protested, grabbing onto Leo’s shoulders. “Are you sure you can carry me all the way to Brooklyn? Despite appearances, I’m not made of marshmallow fluff!” 

Leo looked down at her, looking almost confused by her question. “I carry my brothers all the time, and you’re much lighter than they are. I’ll be fine. Are you ready to go?”

“No, wait!” Meg pulled out her phone once more, finally deciding on the music she wanted to listen to. “Okay. Now I’m ready.” 

Leo shot her another confused look. Meg just smiled, reaching down to pick up the unused earbud.

“Ya wanna listen?” 

Leo shrugged, offering his head. Meg frowned, unsure how this was going to work since Leo didn’t really have an ear in the traditional sense. 

“Should have brought my headphones,” Meg muttered, frowning. She wrapped her arms around Leo’s neck, pulling herself up closer to his face. “Here, I’ll just have to make it loud enough that you can hear it even if it’s not in your ear.” 

Leo cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping his years of ninja training would help him keep his face schooled into one of focus as he carried Meg across the rooftops.

_When the day goes down on the water town,_  
_When the sun sinks low all around,_  
_That's when I know I, I need you now,_  
_Yes, you're what I miss: every little kiss,_  
_Every little one! Every little one!_

“I don’t recognize this song,” Leo said. It wasn’t a surprise, he and his brothers didn’t know much about music in general. It was only thanks to streaming services that they knew anything about it. Radios didn’t penetrate the many layers of bricks and concrete that insulated their lair, after all.

“You don’t know Bruce Hornsby?” Meg asked. “He’s pretty classic. Or, at the least, my parents listened to him a lot. This is from back before I was even born. Like, ‘86 or something, I dunno. I really like it, though.” 

The chorus came around again, and Meg sang along as the wind whipped through her hair. 

“Every little one~, every little one,” She laughed softly. “Sorry, I know I suck. I’ll stop.”

“You’re fine,” Leo assured her. “I don’t mind.”

He caught her rolling her eyes, diverting her gaze shyly. “Sure you don’t.” 

Leo frowned. Clearly this was a sensitive subject for her, and he quickly decided not to push or pry. Still, he found himself identifying with the songwriter. What would he do without these nights, sneaking away to the surface to simply spend time in the presence of this strange woman? He wasn’t even sure he understood why she pulled at him so strongly. She was a mystery, and Leo had never been one to enjoy mysteries. Those were more Donatello’s purview. 

And yet, here he was, going out of his way to carry her home for no reason other than to spend a few more precious moments with her before disappearing back into the sewers. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to do this. His brothers were starting to ask questions, and he could only dodge them for so long. 

“Where in Brooklyn are you?” he asked. “Where do you live, I mean?”

“Vinegar Hill,” Meg said. “Get me to the York Street station and I can guide you.” 

“You got it.”

When Leo finally landed atop Meg’s apartment building, he almost didn’t want to let her go. The chill of winter was just starting to seep into the air, and Meg was soft and warm in his arms. He dropped them down onto her balcony, and he finally admitted to himself he had to let her go, seeing as he no longer had an excuse to hang onto her.

“Thanks for that,” Meg said, tucking a strand of wavy brown hair behind her ear. “That might have been the nicest commute home I’ve ever had.”

Leo let himself smile. “I’m glad. The height didn’t bother you?”

Meg laughed a little, ducking her head sheepishly. “Pretty sure I was too worried you were gonna drop me to worry about how high up we were. You sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine,” Leo assured her again. “Thank you for indulging me.”

“Hey, I’m the one getting carried around like a princess,” Meg said, leaning against the glass door into her kitchen. “Who’s indulging who here?”

“Like a princess, huh?” Leo teased. “Mayhaps I should swear fealty to my ladyship, then?”

Meg laughed again, bright and loud just like every other part of her, and Leo couldn’t help but smile. 

“I’ll see you later,” he said, hopping up onto the balcony railing.

“Sure thing. Have a good night.”

Leo didn’t leave immediately, hiding just across the street and watching until Meg finally entered her apartment. As the lights flickered on, he slipped away into the night, singing softly under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, Leo. Why are you so hard to come up with ideas for! 
> 
> Also, just a reminder that each of these 'story lines' with the turtles take place in a different timeline/universe. And if you're curious how Meg interacts with Donatello, check out the series I'm writing with my friends: The City is Contagious, which this fic is a spin off from. 
> 
> The song featured in this chapter can be found here: [Every Little Kiss - Bruce Hornsby and the Range](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVdw6vneYh8)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! Comments make my day :)

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in the series that this is a spin-off of, you can find it here: [The City is Contagious](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063859)


End file.
